CHAPTER THREE-THE CHILDREN’S HOME
1689 Words
Daniel couldn't stop staring at the photograph.
Twelve children.
One masked man.
And himself standing in the middle.
His hands were shaking.
“That's impossible,” he whispered.
Amara stood beside him, equally disturbed.
“You said you don't remember the children's home.”
“I don't.”
“You don't remember the fire?”
“No.”
“You don't remember any of those children?”
Daniel looked at the photograph again.
“No.”
But that wasn't completely true.
There was something.
A feeling.
A tiny fragment buried somewhere in his mind.
A girl laughing.
A red door.
Someone holding his hand.
Then screaming.
Daniel closed his eyes.
The memory disappeared.
“Daniel?”
He opened them.
“We're going there.”
Amara frowned.
“Now?”
“Yes.”
“It's almost midnight.”
“Exactly.”
---
The old children's home was located on the outskirts of the city.
The drive took nearly an hour.
Neither of them spoke much.
The photograph sat on the dashboard between them.
Daniel kept looking at it.
Every time he did, his stomach tightened.
“Who sent the picture?” Amara finally asked.
“I don't know.”
“Could be the killer.”
“Probably.”
“Then why would the killer send us evidence?”
Daniel stared through the windshield.
“Maybe it's not evidence.”
“What is it?”
“A warning.”
The headlights illuminated the empty road.
Rain began tapping against the windshield.
Amara tightened her grip on the steering wheel.
“You know what bothers me?”
“What?”
“If you were there…”
She paused.
“Why don't you remember?”
Daniel didn't answer.
Because he had been asking himself the same question.
---
At 12:41 a.m., they reached the building.
The children's home stood behind a rusted metal gate.
The sign above the entrance was barely visible.
ST. MARTHA'S CHILDREN'S HOME.
Most of the letters had fallen off.
The building itself looked dead.
Broken windows.
Cracked walls.
Overgrown weeds.
Parts of the roof had collapsed.
Daniel stepped out of the car.
For a moment, he couldn't move.
Something about the building made his chest tighten.
He looked at the entrance.
A red door.
His breathing changed.
“Daniel?”
He didn't answer.
The door.
He remembered it.
Not clearly.
But enough.
A small hand pushing it open.
A child crying.
A woman's voice shouting:
“Run!”
Daniel staggered backward.
Amara caught his arm.
“What happened?”
“I've seen this.”
“What?”
“The door.”
Amara looked at it.
“It's just a door.”
“No.”
Daniel stared at it.
“I remember the door.”
They approached the building.
The front door was locked.
Amara pulled out a flashlight.
“Back entrance?”
Daniel walked around the building.
They found a broken window.
Inside was complete darkness.
Amara climbed through first.
Daniel followed.
The smell of dust and mold filled his lungs.
Their footsteps echoed through the empty corridors.
Daniel's flashlight moved across the walls.
Children's drawings were still hanging in some places.
Crayon houses.
Trees.
Families.
Smiling faces.
Then Daniel stopped.
One drawing was different.
It showed twelve children standing beneath a large black circle.
Daniel walked closer.
At the bottom, someone had written:
WE ARE STILL HERE.
“Daniel.”
Amara pointed to the wall beside it.
There were twelve small marks.
Like someone had been counting.
Eleven were crossed out.
One remained.
Daniel touched the final mark.
A sudden pain shot through his head.
He stumbled.
Images flashed through his mind.
A room.
A table.
A boy screaming.
A woman in a white coat.
A needle.
Daniel gasped.
Amara grabbed him.
“What did you see?”
“A room.”
“What room?”
“I don't know.”
“Daniel, look at me.”
He opened his eyes.
Amara was staring at him.
“You're bleeding.”
Daniel touched his nose.
Blood covered his fingers.
“I saw…”
He stopped.
“What?”
“A needle.”
---
They continued deeper into the building.
At the end of the hallway was a large metal door.
It had been chained shut.
Daniel examined the lock.
“Someone's been here.”
Amara crouched beside him.
“How do you know?”
“The chain is new.”
She touched it.
“It's not even rusty.”
Daniel looked at her.
“Someone doesn't want this opened.”
He pulled his gun.
Amara did the same.
Daniel broke the lock.
The door opened with a loud metallic groan.
A staircase led underground.
They descended.
The air became colder.
At the bottom was a long corridor.
On either side were small rooms with glass windows.
Daniel shone his flashlight inside one.
A metal bed.
Straps.
A chair.
A camera mounted in the corner.
He stared.
“What the hell is this?”
Amara looked inside another room.
“Daniel…”
She pointed.
On the wall were children's names.
LUCAS
MAYA
SAMUEL
NORA
ELI
Daniel walked from room to room.
Eleven names.
All familiar.
All belonging to the victims.
His heart began pounding.
Then he reached the final room.
There was no name.
Only a number.
12.
Daniel stood frozen.
“This was mine.”
Amara didn't speak.
Daniel entered.
The room was smaller than the others.
There was a bed.
A camera.
A chair.
And deep scratches on the wall.
Daniel moved closer.
Someone had carved words into the wall.
I DIDN'T DO IT.
Below it:
THEY MADE ME.
Daniel's breathing became shallow.
“Made you do what?” Amara whispered.
Daniel shook his head.
“I don't know.”
Then he saw another message.
Smaller.
Almost hidden beneath the bed.
He crouched.
The words had been carved into the floor.
DANIEL, IF YOU FIND THIS, DON'T TRUST AMARA.
Daniel slowly looked behind him.
Amara was standing in the doorway.
Her gun was lowered.
She looked terrified.
“Daniel…”
He stood.
“Why does this room know your name?”
“I don't know.”
“You said you had never been here.”
“I haven't.”
“You were here.”
“I don't remember.”
Amara stepped forward.
“Daniel, listen to me.”
He raised his gun.
She stopped.
“Don't come closer.”
Her expression broke.
“You think I did this?”
“I don't know what to think.”
“I didn't write that.”
“How do I know?”
“You don't.”
Silence.
Then a noise came from somewhere deeper underground.
A metallic clang.
Both detectives turned.
Daniel whispered:
“Someone's here.”
---
They moved down the corridor.
At the end was another room.
Unlike the others, this one had electricity.
A computer screen glowed in the darkness.
Daniel approached it.
A single file was open.
PROJECT 12.
He clicked it.
A video began playing.
A woman appeared on the screen.
She wore a white coat.
Daniel stared at her.
His head began hurting again.
He knew her.
Somewhere.
The woman looked directly into the camera.
“My name is Dr. Evelyn Shaw.”
Daniel whispered:
“Shaw…”
The video continued.
“The purpose of Project Twelve was to determine whether traumatic conditioning could alter human behavior and memory.”
Amara stared at the screen.
“What the hell?”
Dr. Shaw continued.
“Twelve children were selected.”
Daniel's hands tightened.
“They were exposed to controlled psychological stress over a period of three years.”
Amara looked sick.
“This is insane.”
The video continued.
“The objective was to create a subject capable of suppressing traumatic memories completely.”
Daniel stared.
“Subject Twelve demonstrated exceptional results.”
The screen changed.
A file appeared.
SUBJECT 12 — DANIEL COLE.
Daniel stepped backward.
“No…”
Amara looked at him.
“You were the subject.”
Dr. Shaw's voice continued.
“However, the experiment encountered an unexpected development.”
The screen changed again.
A photograph appeared.
Eleven children.
Daniel wasn't in it.
He was standing separately.
The woman in the white coat stood between them.
Then Dr. Shaw said:
“Subject Twelve began killing.”
Daniel's blood ran cold.
The screen went black.
Then a new sentence appeared.
FIRST VICTIM: LUCAS REED.
Daniel stared.
Lucas.
One of the eleven victims.
His heart pounded.
“No.”
Another file opened automatically.
SECOND VICTIM: MAYA CLARK.
Then:
THIRD VICTIM: SAMUEL ADEYEMI.
Daniel backed away from the computer.
“No, no, no…”
The victims weren't random.
They were the children.
All eleven.
But there was something worse.
The computer displayed another file.
SUBJECT 12 — STATUS: ACTIVE.
Daniel stared at the screen.
A final line appeared:
MEMORY RESTORATION: 83%.
Amara looked at him.
“What does that mean?”
Daniel didn't answer.
Because the memories were coming back.
Not slowly.
All at once.
A hallway.
A screaming child.
A white mask.
A bloody hand.
A woman shouting his name.
And then—
A knife.
Daniel dropped his gun.
He fell to his knees.
Amara rushed toward him.
“Daniel!”
He grabbed his head.
“I remember.”
“What?”
“I remember the fire.”
“What happened?”
Daniel looked up.
Tears filled his eyes.
“I started it.”
Amara froze.
Daniel's voice broke.
“I killed them.”
A sound came from behind them.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Daniel and Amara turned.
At the end of the corridor stood a figure.
Tall.
Thin.
Wearing a white mask.
Daniel couldn't move.
The figure raised one hand.
In it was a small photograph.
He dropped it onto the floor.
Then disappeared into the darkness.
Amara ran forward and picked it up.
She looked at it.
Her face went pale.
“Daniel…”
“What?”
She turned the photograph around.
It showed Daniel as a teenager.
Standing beside Dr. Evelyn Shaw.
And behind them were the eleven children.
Written across the bottom were three words:
HE REMEMBERS NOW.
Then the lights went out.
And somewhere in the darkness…
a child began laughing.
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